filler.

"Goh is dead.  Goh... Goh is gone."

      The whitened hair stood out stark against the black wall.  His pupils dilated.  A thin dribble of saliva, running down his chin.  This was insanity.  This was -- hhh.  The picture -- The picture.  Mr. Goh.  This was insanity.

      "Mr. Goh?"  The hand clenched.

"Goh is dead.  Goh... Goh is gone."  The sign of the cross.  I was unwelcome here.  Here was the man of the Eight Faces.  Trapped in a theatre of his mind after the war, trapped in this theatre.  I offered my hand.

      "What's your name?"